


untitled

by lyryk (s_k)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 8 Days Of Wincest, Consensual Kink, M/M, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 13:09:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_k/pseuds/lyryk





	untitled

‘Again. Please.’ Sam fists his hands into the pillow under his head, his hips thrusting mindlessly upwards. ‘Dean. Please.’

Dean complies, holding Sam’s cock carefully against his bare stomach as he tilts the candle again, letting tiny drops of pleasure-pain sting across Sam’s balls.

They’d discussed this endlessly before they’d started. Dean had refused to tie Sam down, not this time, not if they were going to be playing around with wax. _Are you sure_ , he’d asked a hundred times. _Sam, are you sure?_

Sam was sure. He’s even more sure now that Dean’s actually doing as asked. He’s holding the candle at least a foot above Sam’s body, giving the drops of wax time to cool from scalding to mildly warm before they fall on Sam’s skin. Sam can take more—he _wants_ to take more—but he knows that no amount of begging will make Dean actually hurt him.

Sam’s not done yet, not by far, but Dean sets the candle down and kisses each little splash of wax in apology, nuzzling against Sam’s balls. Sam lets him. This is something tangible, something Dean’s done to Sam that he can apologize for, and even if Sam doesn’t understand that need, he can let Dean have this.

Sam endures it for a while, and then pushes his hand into Dean’s hair, pulling away from him and turning over. Reaching behind him, he holds himself open with both hands.

He hears a sharp intake of breath from Dean, and for a moment he’s sure Dean’s going to refuse him this time, say this is taking it too far. But then Dean picks up the candle again, and this time the penitent kisses are welcome as Dean lays them one by one along Sam’s crack, lets his lips caress Sam’s hole before moving away. 

Sam’s hole clenches in anticipation. Dean doesn’t disappoint him and the rain of wax begins again, pulling whimpers from Sam’s throat. Dean’s other hand begins stroking Sam’s cock, squeezing with the right amount of pressure, his fingers fencing Sam’s length. Sam thrusts mindlessly into his hand, biting down on the pillow to keep from babbling incoherently. He knows it’s all going to be over in a minute, because there’s no way he’s going to last like this. But he’s going to hold back as long as he can, because this, this is pretty much perfection: Dean’s hand on him, the sweet, controlled torment of the wax dripping on to his hole—not hurting enough, because Dean will never hurt him enough—the ache in his arms, the half-longing for pain that will never be realized.


End file.
